Modern Warfare: Reprecussion
by Hallowed Be Thy Name 683
Summary: Soap and Price have all but left behind the life of a soldier, now bottom feeding waiting for a chance to strike back at Makarov, but are they doing what you think? R


Modern Warfare 3

"Hell if I Know"

Day 1 – 07:15:54

[X]Captain Soap Mactavish

Hotel Modidi

Mogadishu, Somalia

_How'd a Muppet like you make it past selection?_

Soap looked out a window of his hotel room, this place was shit, people everywhere, arms dealers, mercenaries, you name it, it was one of the most dangerous places in the world, yet to him, it felt like one of the most safe places he could be, here was a ghost, a whisper, no one looked at him twice, and he loved it. But in a world where the united states was in shambles, with half the east coast sitting in ruin. He couldn't sit around long.

There was a knock at the door, unsurprisingly, the power of the small nock actually pushed the door open, Ca…_John _Price stood there. He was not looking like half the man he was during their combat insurgencies, cargo vest on-top of a red shit, backpack, jeans, what caught surprised him the most was the lack of a boonie hat. Soap himself was not dressed much differently.

Price approached him rapidly, and slung his backpack over his shoulder, he opened it and pulled out two small pistols, no rest for the wicked. Price handed one to soap, he took it and examined it, a standard Jimenez .380 Caliber, an absolute piece of shit. "It's all I could do with 200 stolen dollars and quick hands" Soap looked up from the pistol "Wha'd ya need quick hands for my friend?" Price was digging through his backpack once again, and resurfaced with four mags for the pistols "These, two each, it'll get us started."

"Are you serious about this Price? The world is full of mercenary factions and arms dealers, how are we gonna stick out? How are we gonna even have enough money to buy _half _of what well need to take down Makarov?" Price was loading his pistol "I don't care, were going to do this to get what we need, and then well worry about Makarov." Soap sighed, it was a terrible plan, they had to hope that they caught the attention of smaller governments and contractors to sign them out, it wasn't all bad though, they had Nikolai still, he had, to Soaps knowledge at least two helicopters and one C-130.

"So, did you get a local job for us then?" Price placed the pistol in the back of his jeans. "Yep, were doing some little deal with some local arms dealers, planning to sell a few crates of Ak's and grenades to a government middle man." "Security detail?" asked Soap. "Basically" Replied Price. Price again reached into his backpack, pulled out a rolled piece of paper and a pen, he uncapped the pen and un folded the paper, it was a crude, overhead view of the black market district of Mogadishu.

Soap watched as Price flattened out the crumbled paper and began to examine it, it disappointed Soap that they had gone from state of the art briefing rooms with satellite overhead images crisp enough to see the date of a penny on the ground, to using a greasy pencil on a crumbled piece of paper in a dirty bug infested hotel. That's the trade off for being a fugitive, he thought to himself, that's what I get for doing what was right. "Pretty simple, we enter with the men into a warehouse in a few jeeps, they'll check the money, hand over the weapons, we get our take and we move up to something worth a little more money" explained Price. "When?" replied Soap. "Now, get up and get moving."

As Soap rose, the pain punctured him like the pain of a slapshot hitting him straight in the chest, he grasped his chest and took a knee. Price leaned down beside him. "Still giving you trouble?" "No!" Replied Soap, eagerly, and he stood up without hesitation, this was obviously a lie. Soap knew that some Russian surgeon with a few bottles of alcohol, scissors and stitches weren't the proper treatment for a knife through his chest. "Lets go."

Fuck it was hot, Soap wiped the sweat off the back of his neck, and then wiped his soaking hand on his jeans. "They're late" soap mentioned to Price as they waited for the jeeps. "We should pull out, no telling whats happens with these people" "Not yet," replied Price. "We need the money." Soap sighed, "Your call old man." Price turned towards soap, "exactly". Soap leaned into the lamp post he was laying on, they were in a busy market intersection. After several more minutes of waiting, they spotted 1 black, rusted jeep in the distance, Soap and Price stood proudly and waved them over.

The jeep pulled up beside them, they unrolled the window, Price leaned in to speak to them. The two men in the front seats seemed native to the area, both had no shirts, the driver propped a cigar in his mouth and sunglasses, the other simply a hat. They spoke to them in Somalian, Price just nodded no. "English uh?" The driver said crudely. "Hop in". Price turned and signaled Soap into the jeep, him and Price climbed into the back seats, Soap kept his left hand ready to slice the drivers neck at any given time, and his right hand ready to draw and shoot the guard, if Price didn't do him in before he did.

"So, heres the deal" the driver explained; "You two, are gonna watch over my boy Ifetayo". "What's the job? Specifically?" price interrupted "Straight to business, where you from? Big Ben?" the driver replied laughing, as he pulled a cigar from his dress shirt pocket, which had the sleeves rolled up and collar popped. "It's a fire sale, we got some weapons, some buyers, and you two are hear just encase things get ugly. "So where do we meet him? Ifetayo?" asked soap.

The man chuckled, "You're looking at him, pleased to meet you, don't tell me your names because I really don't give a shit, I'll call the brit Ben, and you… Scott. Don't like it? I'll fucking you two down in the blink of an eye." As Ifetayo said this to them, the second man in the front revealed an AK 74u pointed backwards towards Price. "So just sit back, enjoy the ride, get me through this, you'll get paid, fair?"

Price and Soap nodded, "Not your best plan Price" Soap whispered. "I know, let me think". Price responded. "No talking!" announced the up until that point, silent passenger in the front seat. As the car drove through the crowded streets, Soap examined the area. Bright, but still solem, people in crowds of 10, 20, people yelling, armed men patrolled the markets, it depressed him darkly. All this time fighting to stop this, as Shepard had shown them, they had just been a pawn in achieving western dominance; this wasn't going to change, unless they changed it.

The car halted, "Were here, just stand beside me, don't say anything." Price and Soap got out of the car, Soap took a walking position along the left side of Ifetayo. Price on the right, the area within the streets they were in now was a contrast of the previous, now dark, shadowy, and deserted. The three entered an alleyway Ifetayo had no bag of any sorts to hold the weapons he claimed to be selling. The man who was in the passenger seat was changing into the driving position. "This wasn't in the fucking planning price," Soap announced. Price did not respond, god did he hope he knew what he was doing.

They rounded the alley, and there, stood one man, white, mid 40's, Brown hair and eyes with graying tips. "Guns, guns guns" The man announced "Money, money, money" Ifetayo responded. "You can not expect me to make an investment, without knowing what I'm investing in even exists, Ifetayo, for the sake, of your daughter, who I know is at home alone right now, lets do this right, show me the guns." The man spoke in a heavy Australian accent. Ifetayo looked shocked, and yelled something back towards the car in Somolian. Within a second the car was reversing around the corner, Ifetayo popped the trunk. Soap was in awe.

Inside sat M16's, M9 pistols, Military class frag grenades, and a single m21 sniper rifle, and assorted packs of ammunition. "There, now, money" Ifetayo demanded "Or my boys will fuck you up". Soap and Price simply stared at the man, Soap hated this, a respected special operations veteran who technically did not exist, to a "boys".

The man grinned, "That is very impressive, but there is no money, sorry to have wasted your time". And he simply turned and rounded the corner. The group of 3 stood their for a moment, then Ifetayo realized what had happened. "The fuck! Why didn't you two useless idiots stop him? Fuck sakes, get back in the fucking car." Soap and price once again returned to their respected position in the back seat. "Fucking idiot" Ifetayo announced as they began to drive once they had settled in the car. "You two dumb ass whites think your getting paid for not doing shit, you're wrong". Price looked at Soap, and nodded, Soap reached for his combat knife, routine, cut the jugular, cut off motor functions, Ifetayo would be dead by the time he finished.

But something caught Soaps eye, something that stopped him cold, and shut up Ifetayo. A truck outfitted with a 50 cal. Machine gun, with a dozen professionally armed, and armored guards, mercenaries, blocked the route they were driving,, Soap was able to guess. Ifetayo came to a halt, As the men raised their rifles, m16A4's, and began to fire.

Soap enjoyed a music. He loved a songs lyrics, he had grown very fond of a song written by Phillip Anselmo, and Performed by Pantera, he found it very fitting for the situation him and Price were in, being hunted by governments of the world, now in the middle of this clusterfuck, but something about the words calmed him, made it seem survivable.

_Reverend, reverend,  
Is this a conspiracy?  
Crucified for no sins  
No revenge... beneath me.  
Lost within my plans for life,  
It all seems so unreal.  
Im a man cut in half in this world,  
Left in my misery._

Soap and Price's years of professional training kicked in.


End file.
